You
by MrBenzedrine
Summary: I'm not 'obsessed' with you, Granger. No, never that. Infatuated. Taken. Stalking is such an obstructive word. I just want to know you - what makes you *you* so that you can see: I'm the one. And I'll do whatever it takes to make you see that. *Whatever* it takes. - Inspired by the Netflix show "You". Dark!Draco, Dramione, WIP
1. Meeting You (Again)

**You  
By MrBenzedrine  
Inspired by "YOU" on Netflix**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor do I own the world of JK Rowling. I'm merely making this up for fun and entertainment, and because a plot bunny wouldn't leave my head. Don't sue me.**

**~A.**

**Chapter One:  
Meeting You (Again)**

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**A/N: This story will get pretty dark at times. I won't give trigger warnings, because I'm not entirely sure where I'm headed with this, but do know: this is a Dark!Draco. Be prepared. If that's something you don't like, squick out now.**

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Look at _you_. Red lipstick. Messy hair tucked into a barely-containable bun. A summer dress _and_ heels. Is this really the same Granger we all grew up with? Or are you just a figment of my imagination? No, that would be impossible. As talented as I am, imagination isn't one of my strong suits.

Of course, I notice you. How could I not? You shine brighter than anyone here in this cold, cryptic Alchemy shop. You're like the literal sun, warming everything you touch. I can tell that about you just from looking. I'd love to do more than look, but it isn't my place.

Not yet.

But based on your dress, I can ascertain you're more carefree than you were back in Hogwarts - buttons are on the front, not the back, so you're still guarded. You like being in control of the situation. I like that. Always have, really. Not that I would have let you know that back then. No, then I was under thumb and ignorant of beautiful creatures.

The heels suggest impracticality, but you are anything but impractical. Maybe you're meeting someone here - a lover? Mmh, those shoes are far too scuffed on the edges to be that kind of meeting. A friend, perhaps. But that lipstick...it's bold. Like you. But I always remembered you being more understated.

So perhaps, you're not meeting a friend here at all. You're making a point. Proving your worth. But you're anxious, too. And annoyed. The way you work your lower lip between your teeth means whomever you're meeting here is already late - and you hate tardiness, don't you, Granger?

The shop bell rings, and a familiar mop of red hair confirms my suspicion. So, Weasley screwed up, did he? _That's_ why you're here. The outfit, the makeup - it's all to show him what he's missing out on. Vindictive...I like it.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," he says, brushing the soot off of his robes as if he's just hopped out of a floo as he approaches you. "Got held up in a meeting and - _why_ did we have to meet _here_ again?"

You cross your arms, building a wall between the two of you, which means you're not looking for this to _work out_. You've got something you want to say, and you don't want to be overheard. And really, who steps inside an Alchemy shop on a Tuesday around two? My most loyal customers wouldn't dare show their faces during daylight hours. This is all a carefully planned execution - and we both know who the target is.

You sigh, and I close my eyes momentarily. That sigh...it's musical. I know we haven't spoken in years, but I can't pretend that I haven't thought about what you might sound like sighing beneath me. It's a good thing you haven't noticed me yet - but you will, Granger. You will.

"Tabitha from accounting says that she saw you and Lavender out for lunch." Your voice doesn't waver, but as I bring my eyes back open, I can see the way your knees shake beneath the skirting of your dress. You're angry. More than angry. You're _furious_.

"Yeah? So?"

"_So_? We haven't been broken up a week, and you're already galavanting out with another woman? _Lavender_, of all people?"

Ooh, bad form, Weasley. Even my depraved self knows better than to be seen out in public with a witch so close after a breakup of that magnitude.

I watch the way you clutch yourself, as if you're afraid that, should you let go, you'll do something you'll regret. Maybe hex Weasley into oblivion? Avada his sorry arse? You wouldn't regret that you did it - only that you'd get caught.

"Lavender's just a friend, 'Mione-"

"Don't." You snap your eyes up to meet his, fire burning in your irises. "Don't you call me that. And a _friend_? Is that what you call someone you _slept_ with while we were…?"

"On a break?" Weasley finishes for you, a bit haughty for my tastes. "It's not like we were together. Not really. You're the one who broke it off with me, remember? Said you needed time to think about things?"

"And that means you jump into bed with the first woman who throws herself at you?" You're trying to control your voice, lest you be overheard by an employee - like myself. But these walls carry sound, Granger, just like they contain secrets. They do my bidding, and they'll always be loyal. They could be loyal to you, too, if you wanted. So could I.

It's Weasley's turn to sigh. "I dunno...thought I could...get over you, y'know?"

There are tears in your eyes. They glisten underneath the flickering candle lighting along the walls, threatening to spill down to your tinted cheeks. Such a shame you're wasting tears on someone like him. But maybe tears are what you need right now - and I'm for giving you what you need. I'm patient, Granger. I've changed. You'll see, in time.

"And...did you?" You interrupt him just before he speaks. "Never mind. I don't want to know. Just...go."

"You serious?"

"Go, Ron!"

"Alright! Geez, alright."

As the bell above the door rings again, we now find ourselves alone together once again. Perhaps it's time I made an appearance - after all, there's no time like the present, and you look like you could use the company.

The timing is perfect as I approach - you pretend to read over the small collection of alchemy volumes I've accumulated over the years, stashed away behind a glass case, displayed for just such occasions. A conversation piece, if ever was one.

You hear my footsteps first, and you quickly swipe at your cheek with your knuckles, no doubt to clear away the wasted tears for Weasley. But when you turn around, those tears quickly dry up. After all, it's not every day you see your childhood bully in a chemistry apron approach you in a less-than-reputable shop tucked away in Knockturn Alley. I know that look on your face - you don't wear it often, but when you do, a thrill runs up my spine. You've been caught off guard, and it's delectable.

Then, you say your first words to me in over seven years. "Malfoy? Is that _you_?"

Yeah, I've changed too...haven't I, Granger? I'm no longer that skinny boy you knew; lifting crates of phials has been kind on my body. No, I'm not bulky, but I'm no longer skin and bones. I'm all grown up now. Just like you.

"Guilty as charged," I smirk, shrugging my hands into my trouser pockets, because honestly, who ever knows what to do with one's hands? "I'd say you were Hermione Granger, but she wouldn't be caught dead in Knockturn Alley…she was such a goody-two-shoes." I'm calling your bluff, and you know it. You'd never admit to having met Weasley here - that would mean admitting to the drying tears on your cheeks.

To my amazement, you don't frown, as was always customary to the sound of my voice when we were children. Instead, a timid smile breaches your face, and you unfold your arms for the first time since Weasley appeared. "She was, wasn't she?" You laugh, quiet, but it's enough to make your smile grow. "If I recall, she also loathed you with a passion."

"Mm, yes, there's a similar memory in here somewhere," I reply, tapping my finger to my forehead. "Of course, I also remember her a bit more...button up. Rigid."

"Rigid? Says the man who used to slick his hair back until it resembled a broomstick? Oh, but you couldn't be Malfoy. His hair never moved."

Yeah, that's different too, Granger. My hair is tugable now. And I find it interesting you've noticed. "Must have been the broom up his arse," I reply, shrugging.

"Indeed." And there you are, more relaxed by the second. Is this real? Have I genuinely made you at ease? You sniffle lightly, trying to cover up the fact that moments ago you were ready to throw yourself into a fit of tears. It's alright - Weasley's always been an arsehole. It's just taken you this long to see it. "You...you work here?" You gesture around to the shop.

"Better yet, I manage it."

"Draco Malfoy? Managing? Now I know you're an imposter." You take a step closer, tilting your head slightly as you observe my face. "Mmh, I doubt it. Even with polyjuice, there's no way anyone else could pull off that arrogant smirk."

"And the degradation begins," I chide playfully, quirking an eyebrow. "Tell me, Granger, how long have you been keeping that one tucked away beneath your belt?"

"Oh please." You roll your eyes. "That would imply I would have thought about you since we graduated."

"There's no need to lie." I shrug. "Most witches do."

"I've never been 'most witches.'"

No. You certainly haven't.

After studying your face for half a moment to assure myself you're not about to bolt out of the door in fear, I gesture to the display case behind you. "Anything I can help you find? I assume there's a reason you stepped foot into my establishment."

Of course, we both know the real reason. Weasley. Secrecy. But you don't know that I know, and that's alright. Your secrets are yours, and I can honor that. We all have secrets, don't we?

"Just browsing," you say quietly, trailing off, probably recalling the events that transpired before our meeting of minds.

I nod, knowing my place. You need time to filter and simmer, and I'm glad to give that to you. "Well, if you need anything…" I pause, weighing my options. "Actually-" I reach for my wand in my holster, and I don't miss the way you take a step back as I present it. I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt just a little to see you flinch at me, but what can I expect? We haven't great history. I step around her and unlock the bookcase, strumming my fingers along the bindings of the tomes I so desperately care for. I stop, plucking one from the shelf and locking the rest safely away before turning to face you again. My wand goes back into my holster - no need to make you fear me any more than you already do. After all, we're starting off on a clean slate. "This one. I think you'll enjoy it. It's an original manuscript written by Nicolas Flamel himself."

Your eyes dance over the leather-bound journal in awe, and it's then I know I've made an impression. "I...I couldn't possibly…"

"Read it." I shove the book gently into your hand. "Bring it back when you're done. If you don't, I know who to call the authorities on."

"Malfoy…" Your mouth hangs open like a trap door. "I don't know what to...why would you…?"

"You're thinking too much on it, Granger," I tell her, shoving my hands back into my pockets. "Just have it back to me when you can." When she does nothing but stare blankly at me, I add, "Look, maybe you're just someone I know who can appreciate this as much as myself. If you dwell too much on the why, I'll seriously consider taking it back."

That gets her. She clutches the journal to her chest and nods, appreciative. "I...thank you, Malfoy."

She leaves the shop quickly, the bell tinkling gently as she exits.

Smirking as large as I can muster without actually giving in to smiling, I quickly stroll back up to the counter and shout toward the back room, "Oi! Nott!"

Theo, my childhood classmate turned employee, peeks his head out a moment later. "Yeah, Draco?"

"I've got to take off early. Close up for me." I quickly shrug off my apron and slip on my robes, buttoning them quickly as I approach the door.

"Alright," Theo says, scratching at the stubble on his cheek. "Everything okay?"

"Of course," I assure him, already out the door. As I step out, I see the small skirtails of your dress turning the corner into the sunlit Diagon Alley.

Now, let's see just where you're off to, Hermione Granger. Just what makes you tick?


	2. Who Are You

**I'm so thankful for the amazing response this fic has received already! THANK YOU FOR READING!**  
**~A.**

**WARNING: There will be some voyeurism. **

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**Chapter Two: Who Are You**

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So, where do you go when you think no one is watching you?

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intrigued from the moment you left my shop, and you don't disappoint. I could have run into a bout of bad luck and found you Disapparated away, but no. You're simple, and you like to walk. I keep my distance, of course. There's no need for you to know I'm here. This is just _reconnaissance_. I'm doing it for _us_, really. If I'm going to make my way back into your life, it's important to know just what that life is like right now and how you prefer your tea.

Three sugars, it seems, which means you have a sweet tooth. You order one inside the local tea shop, but not before tucking the rare item I've bestowed you into your beaded bag at your hip. Ahh, I see. You have a bag of holding. Those are sparse - I'm impressed. It seems I'm not the only one with rarities. Just full of surprises, aren't you Granger?

I'll just take a seat on the patio outside. From here, I can watch you as you find your way to a corner nook inside, far enough away not to notice me but not too far that I can't see you. And a quick eavesdropping spell later, I can hear what you're saying as well.

Your sigh is the first thing to touch my ears, and it sends my nerves into a frenzy. You slump on the loveseat beneath you, careful not to spill your tea. Ever proper, eh Granger? Does a woman like you even know the sort of vibe you give off? You've always been intimidating - any man that's spoken to you can attest to that. But there's more: so many layers. I want to peel them back and see you at your most vulnerable. But all in good time. I'm patient, remember? And I don't mind playing the long game - I've done it this long already.

I know this much about you. You work for the Ministry. _Surprise, surprise_. And if you can't pick up on my sarcasm, Granger, then let me enlighten you. We all knew you'd end up working for the same establishment you used to admonish. After all, how else are you going to make changes if not from the inside out? I can't imagine it's fulfilling for you. But then again, I can't imagine what you saw in an asshat like Weasley, so the jury's still out on what tickles your fancy besides a good book and breaking a list of rules as long as my forearm.

Oh, sure. You try to pretend you're straight-laced, but how many rules did you bend (break) back at Hogwarts?

I like a dangerous side, Granger.

And I know you've been on and off with Weasley for some time now - the papers love a good gossip column, and two war heroes bickering outside of a joke shop? Front page news. It's no doubt why you decided to stow yourself away in the hidey-hole of my shop. But other than that, you've been off the radar, so it's no wonder I have to follow you around.

You sip on your tea quietly, ruminating about the events that have recently transpired - but do you dwell on the negative, like Weasley, or the devilishly handsome Alchemy shop manager? You fidget with the top button of your dress close to your collarbone, so obviously, whatever you're thinking, it's enough to make you restless. And the way you rub your legs together...dare I say your mind, amongst other things, has been stimulated?

Red hair distracts me, and I turn my attention away from you, anticipating Weasley but instead finding another Weasley - Ginny, if memory serves. From the way your eyes light up when you spot her, I see she means a great deal to you.

"Hey, Gin."

"Pansy should be here soon. Fashionably late-"

"As usual," you finish as you scoot over, making room for your friend.

So this is why you're here. A little _girl_ time. I can respect that, though the company you keep, Granger...it's unfitting. Pansy Parkinson? Since when did you two become bosom buddies? What on earth do you have in common with her? At least Weasleyette I understand. You both grew up together - share horrible tastes in men. Not that I'm counting myself in that. You'll find I'm many calibers above those swine you considered redeemable.

I know Pansy. She's not a fan of those she can't manipulate. So either she's got you in her claws somehow, or this is some cosmic joke.

I'm going to hope for the latter.

"Who do you think the flavor of the week is?" you ask, sipping from your cuppa. You lick your lips when you reach the bottom of your cup, which means your sweet tooth hasn't been satisfied. Does it mean you're difficult to sate in other ways?

"The entire Bulgarian Quidditch Team. All at once," replies Ginny, and it causes you to burst into a fit of giggles. But I see behind those eyes - I see the pain inside of you. It must be difficult, to sit here with his sister, after Weasley just staked your heart less than an hour ago.

You want to forget, but you can't.

Does this mean you're holding onto other memories? Memories of my home? Of being scarred, mentally and physically, by my family? Of me standing by, doing nothing but watching the way you writhed?

Of course, Pansy shows. She's as prissy and clingy as I remember. I've been on the receiving end of those hugs, Granger. Don't they just give you the willies? She's a stage five clinger if ever was one, and it appears you're her next victim. So what is it you have to offer her? What could Pansy Parkinson want from you? Status? You are a war heroine. Ginny is a professional Quidditch player, according to the papers. But Pansy comes from _money_. Old money. She has status already.

Looks like I'll log that away in my mind palace for later inquiry. Ugh. I can hardly stand this remedial dribble of what your friends call conversation. You don't look particularly entertained by the size or girth of Pansy's last shag. Yes, go order yourself another tea. Four sugars this time. Noted.

After you're done drudging through the drab one-hour conversation with your friends, you excuse yourself, saying you have another appointment. But that isn't the case, is it? If it was, you wouldn't be dragging your heels to return your empty teacup to the front counter. You're prolonging the inevitable, avoiding where you have to go next. So maybe...maybe you've nothing to do at all.

And that scares you.

You leave the tea shop, patting the bag at your side as if to remind yourself you still have something to look forward to. And I'm not going to lie to you, Granger. That gives me immense satisfaction knowing I'm the one who gave that to you.

There's a moment where I think this is it: you'll leave in a _pop_, and I'll be left to my own devices, but you surprise me. Now, we're heading in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. Considering you just drank your weight in tea and sugar, I doubt you have any intentions of sitting down and grabbing yourself a stiff one. And I'm right. When I enter behind you, with long enough pause to not draw your notice, you're already to the front door. From the window, I watch you tap the bricks and enter muggle London.

I can't say this will be my favorite trip, but for you, Granger, I'm willing to risk my sanity.

Once I know the bricks are set, I step out and follow your lead, waiting begrudgingly as the bricks move and reform to let me through to _your_ world. The air...it's thick, like a sewer in summer, but that's just how muggles are, aren't they?

Look at me, trudging the swamps of muggle London just for you.

I can hardly believe it myself. _She _liked muggles, too, you know. Not that we should bring _her_ up. She's in the past, and you're in my sights: my future with bouncing, frizzy hair and an ass that sways in that dress. But you're more than just your body. I know that.

You take the tube, which I'm unfortunately familiar with. Snagging a pass off of some unsuspecting muggle with a quick _Accio_? That's child's play. Before we know it, I'm sitting five rows back from you, hood drawn around my face as not to be noticed by you. I don't want to spoil this; you wouldn't understand the lengths I'm going through just for you. Not yet.

It's a ten-minute walk to your next destination, which I can only infer by the quaint brickwork and drabby shutters is your apartment. My suspicions are confirmed when you pull out a key.

I stay across the street, ever a gentleman. I wouldn't dare just let myself in uninvited. At least, not with you there. Could you imagine, Granger? You'd scream your pretty arse off and probably throw a chair at me.

Ah, two stories up. I spot you opening your shutters and drawing the curtains back, letting in the last of London's evening glow. It will be dark soon. Will you be the same witch you were earlier? Or does night time bring out another side of you? They don't call it the 'witching hour' for nothing.

Ohhhhh, Hermione Granger. Stripping? In your living room? Or is it a studio apartment? Don't you know there are public indecency laws? Maybe you do. Maybe you _like_ the attention. Maybe you're hoping someone will take notice. After all, Weasley didn't appreciate you, did he? I wonder why you decided to take a break…

I wouldn't have pegged you for a woman who wore blue, but those knickers you're wearing suit you. And your breasts look like a handful - just the way I like them.

No, don't go putting clothes back on! The jumper and jeans combo gives little to the imagination. Such a tease…

But what's this? You're pulling my book out of your bag...and you're smiling. I don't think I've seen you smile like that all day. And I _know_ I haven't seen you bite your lower lip like that. You stare at the cover, but you haven't opened it yet, which means you're thinking about something. Me, perhaps? I lent you this book, and it's at the sight of this book that I see you - truly see you - for the first time.

Deep down under all of your pretenses, you're just a girl who still gets excited at the sight of a new book. They're your escape. Your portal to anywhere but reality, because reality is lackluster compared to all of the things swirling around in that head of yours. Without them, you would have to face the cold, hard truth: your life isn't what you imagined it would be.

You're just about to open it up and take a peek when your head darts toward your door. Shit, I haven't been paying attention to the common passerby. Who the fuck is there and why should you care?

You place my book on your entry table next to the door and turn the handle.

I halfway expect it to be Weasley, groveling on your doorstep for forgiveness, but instead, I find none other than _Harry _fucking _Potter_. Probably come to talk on behalf of the oaf-

Wait. Why are you _kissing_ him?

_Him?_ Potter? _Him_?

I'm surprised the door gets shut, the way you two fall into each other's arms, a tangled mess of limbs and lips. His hands already find their way under your jumper, and I have the sudden urge to vomit.

My eavesdropping spell is still in effect, because I can hear the two of you panting for breath.

"Harry," you whisper, head falling to the side as he trails nips down your neckline. "Harry, we should-"

"Take this to your bed? Couldn't agree more."

You take 'this' to her bed, and I doubt you'll wake up in the morning with your face intact, Potter.

"Mmh, no." You place your hands on his shoulders and steady him back upright, though your body language suggests it's reluctantly. "I...this...what we're doing...should we really be…?"

I gag as his hand cups your cheek. Moreso when your eyes flutter shut. "Hermione...I thought you and Ron were over?"

"We are," you sigh, leaning into his touch. "We are." Your eyes open, and you kiss his wrist. _Disgusting_. "I just...wonder if we're moving too fast?"

Potter's eyebrows crease, and his lips pull down in a serious expression. "If you're having second thoughts-"

"No. _No,_" you insist. "I've..._we've_ wanted this for a long time. I just want to make sure we're not rushing into things."

"You saw him today, didn't you?"

"Yes."

Potter sighs. "Why?"

"Closure...answers. I'm not sure." Once again, you bundle your arms around yourself for the second time today. I'd never make you recoil, Granger. You wouldn't need to feel the need to protect yourself around me. "I needed to make sure...what I felt with him...that it was really _over._"

"...And?" Potter asks, hanging on bated breath. And frankly, I can relate to that because I am as well.

"It is." You nod firmly. And just like that, you're reaching for the bottom of his t-shirt, tugging him to you and inviting him to wrap his arms around you yet again. "I'm being silly. Ron and I are through, and you and I...well, I'm not sure what we are, but all I know is it's...rather hard to concentrate on anything with you staring at me that way."

"What way?"

"Like you can't wait to undress me."

"Can't deny the thought hasn't been sprinting through my mind..." Potter runs his hands down your hips and trails them up your spine, making you shiver. "Seriously, Hermione. I'll take this as slow or as fast as you want. If you want to just sit and watch T.V., or maybe order a pizza-"

You don't give him a chance to respond, because you're already yanking him down to kiss you and working the buckle of his belt at the same time.

It's like a train wreck, Granger. I'm horrified at the sight before me, but I'm unable to look away. Here I am, unable to stop you from pressing yourself between your front door and Potter. All I can do is watch as one article of clothing after the other is tossed aside like yesterday's news. No, _no_. This is all wrong! You're not supposed to be with _him_. How did I overlook this? Were the signs there, and I missed them?

I'm thankful for the darkness that encompasses the street now, because it wouldn't be great if you spotted me lurking in the shadows, watching you as you're stripped of your clothes and dignity. The way you just _let him_ touch you shows that you don't know what's good for you. And when he falls to his knees, I'm tempted to walk away, right now, and pretend I never saw this side of you. That is, until I see the way your back arches as he works his mouth against the most intimate part of you. Gods, your mouth as those little moans and sighs escape it...I could give you something to put in there, Granger. I could give you something all the way to the back of your throat until you gag.

And your tits...I don't mean to be indecent or forward toward you, but Merlin's beard, I've never seen a prettier pair in my life. It seems unfair they should be wasted on men like Weasley and Potter…

As you give his hair a good pull and wrap a leg over his shoulder, I imagine you're pulling _my_ hair. You remember? The hair you found tugable? Well, you didn't exactly say that, but we both know you were thinking it.

My hand slips inside my robes, unable to resist this temptation to imagine what it would be like if _I_, and not Potter, was between those silky legs of yours. Gods, Granger. This is what you do to me. I'm touching myself to the image of you, because you're just that irresistible.

"Mmh...right there…"

There, Granger?

"Oohh…! H-Harry…"

I'll admit, that throws me off, but you'll be saying my name soon enough. I'm willing to let a few mistakes slide.

"Ah...mmMmm..._fuck_."

Language, Granger. - And what I mean by that is: keep using it. It's sexy.

"I'm so close…"

Me too. Maybe we can come together.

A door slams behind me, barreling me out of my thoughts of you. Thank Merlin for robes, or my public indecency would be widespread news in your neighborhood. Thankfully, your neighbor who's stepped outside to light up a cigarette takes no notice of me, and I'm able to play off my watching you as staring up at the night sky. I can still hear every one of your moans and sighs, though.

I don't think your neighbor is leaving his stoop any time soon, so it looks like it's curtains for me.

Don't worry, Granger. I'll be back. And I'll get you out of this situation you've found yourself in. Potter? He's just a distraction. We both know what's good for you, and it isn't him. You'll see it's me, in due time.

And I've got the plans to make it happen.


End file.
